


and now i just sit in silence

by hairtiesoncuffs



Series: falling out of conversations [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I don’t know what to tag, alright i give up enjoy :), bugbears!!, dean is dean i guess, nothing goes right for them because they’re winchesters, sam winchester is getting better, there’s also an oc but she only shows up once don’t worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hairtiesoncuffs/pseuds/hairtiesoncuffs
Summary: “A couple got ganked in the woods after going camping; their kid got out of it alive but apparently her story isn’t making sense. Officials are calling it a bear attack since they’ve got a high number of actual bear attacks, but I think we should talk to the kid,” Dean explains. “So, how about you finish resting up and we’ll take a drive there tomorrow.”continuation of my 7x17 alternate whatevertitle from the lyrics of ‘car radio’ by twenty one pilots
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: falling out of conversations [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906321
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	and now i just sit in silence

**Author's Note:**

> okay this one got away from me it was supposed to be like 4000 words but nOoOoo 
> 
> anyways so i made up a thing because i’m insane
> 
> trigger warnings for (in order) mentions of hallucinations, mentions of mental institutions, mentions of torture, missing/dead parents, slightly graphic descriptions of injuries/corpses, and the typical spn stuff
> 
> thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy!!

It’s been three hours since Dean lead Sam out of that hospital. 

Three hours and they’re holed up in another crappy motel, Dean sleeping in the bed closest to the door, as per usual. It should be a relief, something resembling normalcy after his stint in the loony bin, as Dean so eloquently puts it, but Sam knows the pressure is supposed to be lifted from his head and it isn’t. Lucifer isn’t here, not anymore, and after months of seeing him in the outskirts of his vision or hearing him in his head, Sam can’t exactly cope with that. 

He’s not— 

The voice— 

Lucifer—

It’s just so _quiet_ and his head hurts more than ever. 

Castiel is now in his former position, mind broken and while Cas isn’t leaking Hell memories all over the place (and confusing the Cage with his room when it gets dark at night and Lucifer starts telling Sam exactly what he’s going to do to him, how he’s hiding in the dark and that he was the monster under his bed when Sam was little, that he was crawling in his blood, stepping into his head and taking it out for a spin), Cas is still seeing Lucifer. Honestly, Sam should be grateful to him for tearing that away, but he’s alone and it’s cold and all he wants is for someone, anyone (not Lucifer, please not Lucifer) to tell him he’s alive. At least when he was hallucinating, he knew he was awake and while not entirely present mentally, he was walking on Earth physically. Now, he’s not so sure. 

(Maybe this is all another hallucination. Lucifer told him in the beginning that he was still in the Cage, maybe that’s true and he just let Sam think that the scar on his palm would do things, admitted that he wasn’t real so Sam could create a false sense of security only for this to happen, a way out, and then he’ll be slammed with the full onslaught of Hell again.

_You can’t torture someone who has nothing left for you to take away._

_Very good, Sam._

He can still hear that voice.) 

No. Sam is real. He has to be. If he isn’t, nothing around him matters and he can’t believe that. He can feel the blanket underneath him, and there are no blankets in Hell. There is nothing soft about the Cage. 

Sam breathes. In. Out. Once. Twice. Again, and he hates himself for missing— 

He doesn’t _miss_ Lucifer. Sam only misses his presence. Disturbing as it sounds, it was... nice, having someone looking over him. If Sam ignores the fact that it was literally Satan and that he was a complete douchebag, it’s almost nice. 

Almost. 

He feels like he’s a thousand pieces of Sam arranged in a Sam-shape. Not himself, but close, so close. 

His steady breathing shudders and Sam’s hands fist in his hair, tugging, and he thinks someone is crying because Dean is up and the light is on and— 

Oh. 

It’s Sam. Sam is crying. 

Dean is doing that thing where he runs his hand up and down Sam’s back, occasionally tapping his fingers along Sam’s spine in a random, unpredictable pattern that does so much to ground him right now. Neither of them try to speak for now; Dean just holds him and lets Sam cry because honestly, they’ve literally been to Hell and back. He thinks he’s entitled to a small breakdown. The headache throbbing behind his eyes, though, is lessening as tears land in his lap and he pictures them collecting, making a little pond where tiny frogs live, hiding under lily pads when it gets dark out because anything can get to them. (Subconsciously, Sam wants to protect the frogs, tell them that they’ll be okay. That he can help them. 

This is his safe place. No one has been in here except for him and the frogs and the frogs are good.) 

“Jesus, Samantha, such a friggin’ _girl,_ ” Dean finally mutters, and it’s enough to draw a watery laugh from the younger. “Seriously, man, that’s twice within the span of, like, four hours. Finally realize that you’re never going to look as good as me?” 

Sam takes a beat to choose his words before saying, “He’s gone.” 

Dean holds him tighter. “Damn right.” 

“He’s gone.” 

“He’s gone,” Dean says, nodding. Sam nods with him and it’s good. He’s good with this. This is good. “You’re going to be okay, Sammy.” 

“‘S Sam,” he corrects, blinking sluggishly, the waking nightmare that’s been the past two weeks finally catching up with his body. Sam can feel it, he’s still dying here, but it’s from exhaustion. Nothing truly supernatural. If he had the energy, he would laugh at the idea of going out like this. “Dean?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Think I wanna sleep.” 

“So you sleep,” Dean says simply. 

“Just like that?” 

“Just like that.” 

It’s hard to think about that, after he’s been up and running on fumes for however many days it’s been. Between Lucifer not letting him sleep and then being too afraid to after the one time he managed, about a week ago, because of the kodachrome memories of Hell, it’s difficult for Sam to even entertain the idea of sleep, much less give it a seat at the table, but Dean is solid next to him and quiet and nothing at all like Lucifer. So Sam pulls out the chair and falls right onto the floor when he tries to take his own seat. 

It’s been sixteen hours when Sam wakes up again, and Dean only hands him a water bottle (“hydrate”) and a granola bar (“protein-ate”) and makes sure he has at least a little of both before asking how he feels. It’s oddly sentimental, especially as compared to the last time they were in this type of situation. (“Wait, are you seeing him right now?”) 

“I’m okay,” Sam says, and it’s filled with this rush of relief that travels throughout his whole body. “I’m still tired, but I slept fine and I feel. Okay.” The word is heavy in his mouth. 

“That’s— shit. That’s great.” Dean is grinning at Sam, smiling like the whole damn world just bowed down to him. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Sam answers, also smiling. “I’ve felt like crap enough to know when I actually feel okay, I think.” 

Dean claps his shoulder. “Knew you’d pull through, Sammy.” 

He stands up and moves away from the bed, looking through a newspaper. “You caught up on sleep yet or do you feel like checking out again? Doesn’t matter which one you choose, whatever gets you back on your feet.” 

Sam snorts a little. “Pretty sure ‘getting me back on my feet’ would involve me literally getting up and walking around,” he comments, tugging lightly at his shirt to smooth it out. “What’s the case?” 

“A couple got ganked in the woods after going camping; their kid got out of it alive but apparently her story isn’t making sense. Officials are calling it a bear attack since they’ve got a high number of actual bear attacks, but I think we should talk to the kid,” Dean explains. “So, how about you finish resting up and we’ll take a drive there tomorrow.” 

“Wait, what? I’m fine, we can go today,” he protests, standing up and blinking against the head rush. 

“I’m sure you can, but it’s past six,” Dean points out, motioning to the windows. “We should get some actual food in you, none of that rabbit crap.” 

“It’s called eating healthy,” he counters as his boots are all but thrown at him. 

Dean laughs. “Kind of comes with the job description. You know, saving people, hunting things, staying in shape because you’re constantly running for your life. Put on a jacket.” 

Sam obeys, slipping his phone into his pocket as well before following Dean out the door, making sure he hears the lock catch before moving into the parking lot. 

(He should know better than to think he’s really gotten out of that place scot-free.)

“Were we really right to leave Cas?” Sam asks as the engine starts. 

“Sam.” 

“What?” 

“We already talked about this.” 

“I know,” he says, frustrated. “We did and you told me it was for the best but I can’t just... I can’t leave him. I know how bad it is, and I don’t want him going through that.” 

“He’s an angel, Sam, he doesn’t need sleep. Cas will be fine,” Dean says shortly. 

“I know,” Sam tells him. “He’ll be fine, he’s not like me, but I’m still worried about him.” 

(It’s not the lack of sleep that’s stirring this anxiety. It’s the way Lucifer digs his claws into your brain and holds on tight enough that the second he lets go, you want it back. It’s the way he stays, permeates your thoughts, and hangs on no matter how hard you try to shake him off.)

Dean turns to meet his eyes, just for a second before they’re back on the road. “I’m worried too. But Cas is a big boy. He can handle himself.” 

“I know,” he repeats. There isn’t much he can say to Dean that will make him understand his worries, not that he would want to hear them in the first place. Their whole thing is burying everything and releasing it, little by little, in every hunt until it’s not there anymore. He’s found that it doesn’t work, at least not for him, but Dean swears by it so Sam just lets go of the conversation, trying to ignore the glance Dean passes at him when they get out of the car. 

(Cas isn’t going to be okay, sooner or later he’ll end up as screwed as Sam was what with seeing Lucifer and being locked in a ward after months of not knowing who he is. It’ll either be the seclusion that drives him crazy or Lucifer will. Personally, he’s betting on the latter. 

Sam knows Cas isn’t alone, but he can soundly say it feels that way a lot. Being in that room— _Is it just me, or does this feel like the Cage?_ —it was almost painful. He’s used to moving around constantly and taking care of things, and he’s sure Cas, now that he knows who he is again, will want the same. Staying in one place just isn’t something they do, and if Sam had the willpower, he knows he would have gotten out of there as fast as he could have. Unfortunately, the chances of that happening before the accident were slim to none because of the lack of sleep, and then combined with the headaches, slight rib pain, and his slowly dying body, there was very clearly no way for him to get out. 

There’s also the whole matter of Lucifer to contend to. The hallucinations get intense, practically warped Sam’s reality, and it slowly became impossible to break out of them. It had been explained to him pretty simply, his subconscious working out the details and Lucifer delivering the verdict: it was a mental projection. He was Sam’s memories, all pressed into the form of an archangel that was his greatest torturer. The simple things, like changing the way his food looked or covering the walls with bloody messages in Sam’s handwriting, were other memories from the Cage his brain wasn’t processing enough to shove into his projection of Lucifer and thus throwing him into a mix of flashbacks and hallucinations. 

Horrible stuff, he knows. 

That means that Lucifer, if Cas was even seeing him as Lucifer, now has control of those memories. He could use at one of them against their friend and trigger a break in his mind, trapping the angel in a cell much like the Cage to be tortured inside his own head. Sam doesn’t know how angels work or how advanced their minds are as compared to people, but he’s sure that if they let Castiel continue the way he is now, it will happen.) 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Seriously, you look a second away from passing out again.” 

Sam shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. If you don’t remember, I was kind of dying of exhaustion a day earlier. Cut me some slack.” 

“Alright, whatever. Come on, let’s grab some grub to go and head back to the motel, you’ll eat when we get back or when you wake up,” Dean surmises. 

Sam nearly passes out on the drive back, only staying awake because of Dean’s insistence on playing classic rock. 

It’s a sweeter lullaby than anything else he remembers. 

Sam is still tired. He thinks he’ll be like this for a while, at least until he finally catches up on his sleep. Dying of exhaustion is not fun. 

But there’s a hunt. He and Dean can handle a hunt, they’ve been doing those together since Sam was eight and found out about monsters, when he finally realized why they had to move around all the time and why he and Dean were held to strict workouts and had sparring practice every other day. They can do one hunt. 

“No, Garth, we’re kind of busy with our own at the moment. Try calling Alan, okay? Yeah. Good luck.” Dean hangs up the phone and shifts his attention to Sam. “What do you have so far?” 

“So, uh, I was looking at the reports of bear attacks and how recent they were, in comparison to each other. It seems that they pop up about every fifteen years,” Sam says, staring at his laptop. “However, it only takes victims who have children and every time, the children come out of it alive.” 

“Maybe they’re just not aged enough for him. Like cheese,” Dean says, and at Sam’s side-eye, shrugs. “Continue.” 

He clears his throat before going back to the information. “None of the bodies have ever been found. In fact, it doesn’t look like there’s any trace of people being taken away forcefully, just the gray fur they see at every site. I was thinking wendigo, but there’s no way with the fur. Unless it’s coincidental, but nothing is.” 

“And nothing else?” 

“Just the campsite, and it was pristine. Tents were still up, the fire was dying by the time rescue teams got into the woods to look for the parents.” 

“Huh.” Dean taps the table, glancing at the paper next to Sam. “Let’s talk to the kid first. Remind me of her name?” 

“Eva Davis.” 

“Right. So she’s hanging out with Mom and Dad, they’re going on a camping trip because they think it’ll build character. Kid’s looking for sticks or whatever, she hears her parents yelling, goes back and they’re gone. She runs out of the woods and goes to her neighbors, tells them her parents are gone, they call 911, and no one sees the parents again.” 

“That’s what the article’s saying.” 

“And she’s how old?” 

“Eleven. Apparently, she’s been camping in those woods for six years and hasn’t ever had a problem.” Sam stands up, reaching for his suit jacket. “You ready?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, checking his inside pocket for the fake FBI badge. “Let’s go.” 

The ride over is quiet and before Sam knows it, they’re at the doorstep of Eva’s neighbors and knocking on the door. A teenager answers it, short back hair streaked with electric blue. “Hey. I assume you’re here about Eva?” Her clothes are almost aggressively oversized, giving off the impression that she’s trying to hide in them while also drawing attention to her. A little counterproductive, but she’s got other features that can take focus off of her T-shirt. 

“Yeah, I’m Special Agent Fitz, this is Special Agent Simmons. We’re here about the attacks,” Sam explains. 

“No offense, seriously, but don’t FBI look more at, like, domestic stuff? Not animal attacks?” She shrinks back a little. “Sorry.” 

“No, you’re right,” Dean says. “We’re just not sure if these are animal attacks.” 

“Oh,” she says, and they can practically see the wheels turning in her mind. “So, there’s some sort of pattern or connection between this and, uh, other attacks and you’re looking into it to see if it lines up with whatever you’re searching for. Right?” 

Sam nods. “Pretty much. You are?” 

“Jasper, I’m babysitting since my parental units are running errands,” she says, flushing and stepping back from the door. Sam crinkles his brow a little at the way she refers to her parents, but lets it go. Not everyone is close to their mother and father. “Sorry, come in. I’ll get Eva, you can sit down if you want.” 

“Thanks.” Sam smiles at Jasper as she rushes off, taking the stairs two at a time. 

Dean watches. “Did she seem suspicious to you?” 

“A little nervous, but she’s a teenager who’s watching over a kid whose parents went missing three days ago. I think she’s fine,” Sam replies, glancing at the living room walls. They’re strangely devoid of any pictures or art, just blank slates like they’re waiting to be filled by something. He knows not everyone has stuff in their communal spaces, but most families that have kids display pictures somewhere. 

(The walls of the Cage were almost never blank. There was always blood or entrails or organs hung up there, cleaned up only to be presented again and again and again.) 

Sam breathes deeply, clearing the image from his mind just before Jasper comes back in, with Eva in front of her, face a way-too-mature mix of apprehension and fear. 

“Hey,” Dean says. “You’re Eva, right?” 

The dark-skinned girl nods, curly ponytail bobbing as she does so. 

“I’m Dean, and this is Sam. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” 

“You’re going to find my parents, right?” she asks. 

“We’re going to try,” Sam promises. “We’ll do our absolute best, we just need you to tell us what you saw.” 

“It wasn’t a bear,” she blurts. “I _saw_ it.” 

“What did it look like?” Dean asks. 

“You won’t believe me. No one else did,” Eva says, sounding forlorn. 

“Well, you’re just going to have to show them that you’re right,” Dean encourages. “You’ve just got to tell us what it looked like.” 

Eva nods, determined. “It was a bugbear. Bear sized, but it looks more like a wolf and walks on its hind legs. Mom said that it goes after disobedient kids and eats them, but I’ve been good.” Her face crumples. “I’ve been _good._ ” 

“I’m sure you have,” Sam says, soft and reassuring. “You’re positive it was a— a bugbear?” 

She’s convinced. “Yes.” 

Jasper hovers nervously on the outskirts of the conversation, listening in but not saying anything about Eva’s claims. Sam’s pretty sure she doesn’t believe that it’s a bugbear, whatever that is, Sam’s never heard of it before, but there’s still a chance. He’ll talk to her after they’re done with Eva. 

“—thing else you can tell us about it?” Dean is asking when Sam comes back from his thoughts. 

“I don’t remember,” Eva says. “Except that it didn’t leave footprints.” 

Dean glances at him. “Okay. Thanks, Eva. We’ll call if we find anything.” He gets up to leave, but Sam cuts in before he can take a step. 

“Jasper. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions too?” 

“No, not at all,” she says, taking Eva’s hand. “I’ll be right back. Can you keep an eye on Appa?” Eva nods, smiling and running to another room. Jasper smiles sheepishly, a smiley piercing slightly crooked in her mouth. 

“Appa?” Dean asks. 

She blushes again. “My dog. I really liked Avatar when I was little.” 

“What’s— never mind.” Dean shakes his head a little. 

“You obviously weren’t in the woods at the time of the attack, but you answered the door when Eva showed up, right?” Sam interjects smoothly. 

“Yeah, I’m a bit of an insomniac, so I was already awake when she knocked,” Jasper says, pulling one sleeve farther over her hands. Sam narrows his eyes at the action but continues. “What was she like when you answered? Was she really upset or more of just in shock?” 

“She was definitely upset,” Jasper says. “I mean, I’ve been babysitting her for six years, I know what she looks like upset, but I’d never see her like this. It makes sense, you know, and my parents were up a minute later while I called 911.” She exhales, a little shakily, and tries to smile. “She’s been staying with us since. Eva still thinks her parents are coming back. What a joy it was to be young and naive.” The smile comes back, small and humorless. 

“And do you believe her about all the bugbear crap?” 

“I mean, I was practically raised on it. I don’t believe in it, but my parents always told me it was going to come and eat me if I misbehaved. I’m pretty sure it’s just a way for her to deal with all this, to say it was a bugbear instead of just accepting it for what it is.” 

Sam nods. “Alright. Thank you, Jasper.” 

“No problem, Special Agent Fitz and Special Agent Simmons. I’ll, uh, be here. You know. If you need to ask any other questions,” she says, awkwardly showing them to the door. “Sorry. Thank you.” 

“Here.” Sam hands her one of their cards before following his brother. 

“She’s suspicious,” Dean declares the second the door closes behind them. 

Sam scoffs. “What, because she’s being confronted by who she thinks are the feds and alone with a kid? She’s suspicious for being nervous around us?” 

“You know just as well as I do what a tell looks like,” Dean counters, opening the car door. “The sweatshirt thing? A tell.” 

“Yeah, that was weird, but Dean. I don’t know what she could have done. I mean, you saw her, she’s _small._ I don’t think there’s anything she could have done.” 

“If she’s this bugbear thing, I’m sure she’s got damage.” 

Sam shrugs. “Whatever, man, I’m just saying I don’t think it’s her.” 

“Fine. Let’s go back to the motel, check the lore of these things, and then woods. Tonight.” 

Sam pauses as they skirt around a fallen tree, turning to Dean and smiling a little. “You know how I said there was almost nothing about bugbears but that they were really popular in D&D?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I think that means we’ll be some of the first to actually have a hunt on it.” 

Dean grins. “Suck that, other hunters.” 

They’re in the woods at this point, the sliver of a moon doing nothing to light their way. Sam’s holding his shotgun tightly at his side, salt rounds packed in. Dean’s loaded his pistol with silver bullets, since neither of them know what they’re up against or how to kill it, not exactly. 

(He’s not going into how much he hates that. Their lives are pretty much continuous I-don’t-know and it’s always been nice to have a normal hunt in between stopping the world from ending. But of course, the second they look for one, it has to turn into another new thing for them to figure out. 

For a second, Sam almost misses Stanford. Back when he could finally be a normal kid, with stability and friends and grades that stayed under the same school and teacher for a year straight. 

But then he remembers Jessica burning on the ceiling and knows that no matter what, he was going to be pulled back. It was just a matter of when.) 

Dean swings the flashlight he’s holding over to Sam. “You good?” 

“Fine,” Sam answers automatically. “Eva said there weren’t any tracks, right?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, contemplating. “But there’s the fur, right? We can look for that.” 

He nods and follows Dean as he scans the ground for any hints. “How do you find something that doesn’t leave footprints?” he grumbles. A second later, a small exclamation tears from his mouth. “Here we go!” 

“Found it?” 

“I found something, alright,” Dean says, crouching down. “Fur. Small clump of it, stuck in a bramble. Looks like it doesn’t take much for it to come off.” 

“Can you see any more?” 

“Not yet, but there’s a few broken branches ahead. The campsite should be close too; it’s cleaned up but the clearing is supposed to be easy to get to. I vote we head that way and see what we can see,” Dean tells him, already walking without waiting to hear Sam’s thoughts, not that he would disagree. Dean is better than Sam at tracking anyway. 

It takes them a few minutes, but the clearing is more lit than anywhere else in these woods so far and it’s a relief for Sam to actually be able to see things again without aiming a flashlight at it. From there, it’s evident that the bodies were carried because there are no drag marks or signs of a struggle. If Sam didn’t know better, he’s think that the parents just disappeared. 

“What the hell?”

“Anything?” 

“No,” Dean snaps, frustration shining in his voice. “It’s like this thing doesn’t even _exist._ There’s absolutely nothing here.” 

Sam’s about to reply when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket and he fishes it out, confused. “Who’s going to be calling you now?” Dean groans. 

Sam just ignores him, answering the call. “Hello?” 

_“Special Agent Fitz?”_

“Jasper?” This grabs Dean’s attention and he takes a few steps closer to Sam.

 _“Yeah.”_ She’s breathing purposely slow, trying to calm down, her voice catching on the harder consonants as she continues to speak. _“I— I’m sorry to bother you, it’s just, my parental units...”_

“What happened?”

Jasper talks fast, almost too quickly for Sam to keep up with. _“I don’t know, they haven’t come home and I tried messaging them, but they didn’t reply and then I was calling and that didn’t work either.”_

“They don’t normally stay out late?” Sam motions for Dean to start moving, both of them heading back the way they came. 

_“No, not without telling me. Even if they did, they’d let me know.”_

“Are you still at your house?”

 _“Yes.”_

“Is Eva with you?” 

_“She’s asleep, but yeah.”_

“Stay put, we’re coming.” 

Jasper exhales, shaky. _“Thank you.”_

“Give us ten minutes.” He shoves the phone back in his pocket after hanging up and turns to Dean. “Jasper, her parents haven’t come home.” 

Dean swears and starts moving faster, meeting Sam’s pace as they all but run back to the Impala. “Think it’s the bugbear?” 

“All signs point to yes,” Dean says. 

Sam shoots him a look. “Not the time for jokes.” 

“Oh, alright, fine.” They emerge, slide into the Impala, and tear out of the parking lot trying to get to Jasper’s. “If it’s this bugbear thing, we’ve probably got to figure out where they were last and look there. It’s got to be close to the woods, since I doubt it’d choose to go out in the open during broad daylight.” 

“And from there, find the den and take it down,” Sam finishes, mentally taking inventory of the weapons in the trunk. “We should probably try silver bullets first, and if that doesn’t work, go in with the machete. This thing’s supposed to be pretty big, but it’s got to have a weak spot.” 

“Sounds good.” Dean makes a sharp turn, pulling up at Jasper’s house, where the girl is pacing on her driveway. “Jasper!” 

She looks up, clearly too lost in her worry to have noticed their arrival, and sprints over. “I’m so sorry—” she starts, eyes bright with worry but no tears. 

“Kid, it’s fine,” Dean says. “You did the right thing.” 

“Where were your parents last?” Sam asks, cutting straight to the chase. 

“At the grocery store, left off of Lune Road.” 

“Great. Sam, can you—” He’s already moving, running around the back to refill his clip. “Jasper, stay here.” 

“I can’t, sorry for the language, I can’t fucking breathe here, not knowing anything. Please. Let me come with,” Jasper begs, eyes wide and desperate. 

“Who’s going to keep an eye on Eva?” Sam asks gently, trying to prod her in the right direction. 

“One minute. I’ll be right back.” She’s fast, sprinting down the road and returning barely any time later, a taller blond girl at her side. Jasper’s rattling off instructions, the other looking startled but nodding along and then peeling off to head into the house. “That’s Bree, she’s a friend—” Jasper tugs on her sleeve “—and she’ll stay with Eva. Please.” 

Dean huffs out a breath, sliding back into the car. “Backseat.” 

Jasper scrambles in as Sam cocks his gun, grabbing two machetes and slamming the trunk, barely making it into his seat before his brother gets back on the road. “Machete.” 

“Machete,” Dean repeats, nodding. “Jasper, which way?” 

To her credit, the girl doesn’t even look scared. Her face is schooled determination, voice failing to waver as she recites a series of lefts, rights, and straights, Dean following them perfectly and screeching to a stop while the car is sprawled across three different parking spots in the lot. “Can I—” She motions to one of the machetes. 

Sam hands it over tentatively. “You know how to handle these?” 

“I’ve been fencing since I could walk, and I’ve been messing around with knives for years. I’ll be fine,” she says, muscles tight with tension but not locking up. Dean sends her an approving glance, then moves into the woods surrounding the asphalt. 

“Aim for the head,” Dean says, as if Sam needs the reminder. “Jasper, stay back as much as you can.” No further instruction for her comes, and Sam makes a shushing motion with his hand when she tries to talk. It takes at least two miles of tracking in silence before Sam can tell that they’re getting close. He can feel it. 

Dean’s the first one to spot it. “Sammy.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Up ahead.” 

He looks at where Dean’s pointing, making out a young tree who’s growing branches are bent around a few others, clearly deliberate. “Hole?” 

“Seems like it.” 

Dean moves closer, Sam following and moving around one end while Dean looks at the other. “I’ve got an entrance,” he says, his older brother and Jasper quickly coming over right as a cloud moves and provides them with a slice of moonlight. 

Jasper nearly chokes. “No, no, what the _shit_ —”

In the shallow pit, there are two bodies and what looks like an arm of another. It’s mangled beyond recognition, but based on Jasper’s reaction and their information from the article, he can guess the bodies are Jasper’s parents and that the arm belongs to one of Eva’s. Sam and Dean share glances over her head as the kid stares, wide-eyed, at the two corpses. 

“You alright?” Sam asks gently. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got to keep moving right now.” 

“They...” It’s all she can manage right now, but there are no tears. Sam guesses she’s in shock, which isn’t going to be good if one of them has to keep an eye on her while the other fights, but they knew that when they let her come. He leads her over to a tree while Dean scopes the rest of the place out, only halfway through before they see it. 

The bugbear definitely isn’t something they’ve encountered before. It’s tall and wiry, about the height of a bear with the slimmer build of a wolf. It balances on its hind legs, long claws extending from the forepaws and glinting menacingly in the dim light. Silvery fur allows viewing of the muscles rippling underneath the pelt and while it doesn’t seem that aware of its surroundings, Sam can see its ears swiveling and nose twitching, clearly picking up on everything around it. 

Then it growls, strangely echoey like the cry of a wolf with a deeper undertone of snarling, lunging at him and Jasper. Sam barely has time to react before its claws are sailing towards his face, missing by centimeters and slamming into a tree, knocking off the outer and inner layers of bark along with a few splinters of wood. Sam gulps. If they’d connected with him, he’s sure his cheek would be gone. 

A gunshot cracks through the air, the bullet burying itself in the bugbear’s exposed ribs. It doesn’t slow it down in the slightest, however, the creature only growing angrier and turning to Dean, Sam is struggling to his feet and the machete is too close range for him, he’s not going to get to Dean in time— 

Metal flicks across the arm of the bugbear and red splatters against the tree it just cut into. 

Jasper, machete in hand, stands at its side, blood dripping down her face. It growls again, furious and she ducks underneath its swipe, rolling back to Sam’s side. “Catch it on the other wrist,” she hisses, tossing the machete back at him and then looking at Dean, who’s back on his feet. Sam points at his wrist and mimes slicing it, then points at the bugbear.

The pause he takes, just about three seconds, is enough time for the bugbear’s white-eyed gaze to lock on him and for it to launch itself at him, knocking Sam into a tree and stealing all the breath from his lungs. He lays there for a second, trying to get himself back together as the bugbear gets closer, and the world spins into tiny spots of black that expand and swallow up everything else. 

“—ganked the thing, come on, Sammy, wake up,” Dean says. “You have to stop passing out on me, there’s no way I’m going to carry your Sasquatch ass out of here.” 

“‘M fine,” Sam mumbles, blinking and seeing Dean’s worried face swimming over him. “You?” 

Dean scoffs, grabbing Sam’s shoulders and helping him to a sitting position. “Fine, obviously. Your head okay? There’s no concussion, as far as I can tell.” 

“It’s not bad, just a headache,” Sam replies, looking around. Jasper is crouched by the pit, fire lighting up her face. “Hey, did you—”

“I knew you weren’t going to want to miss the salt and burn,” Dean says, pointing to the bugbear corpse, a couple yards away from Jasper. “She’s, uh, her parents.” 

“Oh,” Sam says softly. “We should explain.” 

“You think?” Dean asks, letting Sam stand up. “Jasper.” 

She doesn’t look at them, only lifts up a hand to tug on a piece of hair. Dean walks over to her side, leaving Sam to inspect the bugbear corpse. It’s wrists are both slit, allowing dark red blood to sink into the dirt underneath. He can hear Dean asking Jasper if she’s going to be okay, the kid’s voice too quiet to make out correctly. Then, the world-bending realization that monsters are real that Jasper only raises an eyebrow at. He’s got to give her some credit, most people freak out at the mere mention of something truly supernatural. 

The salt canister (Dean must have gotten it while he was out) is sitting next to the lighter fluid, the former of which Sam picks up as soon as he hears Dean’s footsteps getting closer. “Let’s light this sucker up,” Dean says, looking around them and at the lack of fallen leaves. 

They walk around it, Sam tossing salt on while Dean drenches it in lighter fluid and Jasper stands, silent, watching them as Dean then flicks his lighter and drops it onto the body. The bugbear burns bright, and Sam pushes back moments from the Cage in favor of catching Dean’s gaze and sending a small smile at him that doesn’t make it to his eyes. There’s nothing to celebrate, not really. Four people are dead and two kids are now alone, hopefully with family nearby who will take them in. 

“What happens now?” Jasper asks after the flames have died down. 

“We’ll head back to the Impala, get you home. You said you could stay with your friend?” 

“I think so. Eva has an aunt right outside of town, so I’ll get that sorted out,” she says. “Thank you.” 

“It’s our job,” Sam replies, looking at the charred remains of the corpse. 

She nods. Looks back at her parents. Chews on a fingernail and doesn’t cry. 

(Sam can only wonder how much she’s seen to make her like this.)

The walk and subsequent drive back are silent. It’s only when they finally pull to a stop that Dean twists around and finally addresses the tell. “The sweatshirt thing.” 

Jasper looks up. “What?” 

“You tugged on your sweatshirt when you mentioned being awake at night, and again when you said Bree was a friend. That’s a tell, for when you’re lying,” Dean says. “So, what’s up with that?” 

“I, uh,” Jasper says, glancing at her house. “Look, I promise, it’s nothing harmful. We’re not bad or anything. It’s just, I can’t explain it.” 

“Do it anyway.” 

She breathes out, hard. “You won’t hurt me?” 

“Of course not,” Sam reassures. 

“She’s my girlfriend.” 

Dean looks at Sam, then back at Jasper. “Oh.” 

“That’s all it is?” Sam asks. “Trust me, we’ve got too much going on to care if you’re gay or not.” 

“Pan, technically,” Jasper says, before slipping out of the car. “I was talking to her when Eva came over.” 

Sam nods. “I’m guessing your parents aren’t exactly supportive of it?” 

She scoffs. “More of they would disown me if they even knew I had Bree over for a sleepover. They’re so afraid of having a gay kid. Were.” 

“So you were disobedient, in their eyes.” 

“I guess,” Jasper says. “What does this have to do with anything?” 

“The bugbear goes after disobedient kids, right?” 

Her jaw drops. “So _I’m_ the reason they’re dead?” 

“What? No, of course not, monsters don’t use reason. You’re a good kid, Jasper,” Sam tells her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m serious. Not a lot of people stick around to say thanks, or take... this all that well.” 

“It’s not like I get a choice. Qué será, será, right?” Jasper asks. 

Dean shakes his head. “Take care of yourself.” 

“I will,” she says quietly, subdued, before she runs up the driveway and disappears into the house. 

“Alright, then,” Dean says, pointing the Impala towards the motel. “Let’s send out a notice to the other hunters, I’m sure Jody can get word around pretty well, about the bugbear.” 

“Morning?” Sam asks. “Kind of want to sleep.” 

“Is dying from exhaustion really that bad?” Dean stares at him, genuinely curious. 

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.” 

“Whatever you say,” Dean tells him, rolling his eyes. 

“I saw that!”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.” 

Sam didn’t realize exactly how much he missed this. Him and Dean, the Impala, and their job. Saving people, hunting things. The family business. 

(Sam has spent far more time with the brother he should know nothing about than Dean, the brother who practically raised him. 

Dean should know more about Sam than anyone else, should be able to read Sam easier than a picture book, should recognize any and all of Sam’s little tics, but he doesn’t. It’s Adam, always reaching the surface to whisper ideas into Michael’s ear only to sink back under again, who knows Sam better than any other human on the entire planet. He bore witness to every one of Sam’s weaknesses and fears and insecurities and instead of standing by him, he laughed with his face but also with the grace of Michael spreading through his being. He laughed with Lucifer and Michael as they tortured Sam. 

Somewhere, deep inside him, Sam wants to believe it was because Adam just didn’t want to get hurt and it was easier to play along. 

Somewhere, deep inside him, Sam wants to forget he ever realized that Adam had genuinely enjoyed his pain and even took a few turns with the archangel’s power.)

He’s fine. Really.

But then. 

He’s lost. 

Adrift. 

Floating out at sea with nothing to guide his way. No stars above, no sand below. Just time, spinning past him, forever. 

One day, Sam Winchester will be forgotten and no one will be around to care, not even him. He will be faceless and nameless, clinging onto a piece of wood in the middle of the ocean as the waves finally come crashing down and swallow him up. The boy with the demon blood will be gone and the Earth will keep spinning and his body will never wash up on a beach, it will be buried by the moon and the waves as the scavengers devour his salty flesh and fish use his ravaged bones as a place of shelter. Who knows what will become of his soul, whether it will go back to Hell or to Heaven or if Sam will just be trapped under millions of gallons of water. He supposes that it’s not something to dwell on. 

It’s comforting, to know that his death will pass in silence.


End file.
